


cons

by zombeesknees



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: The Roaring Twenties. Chicago. The Doctor, Amy, Rory, and River cross paths with Captain Jack at Al Capone's birthday party — shenanigans ensue. | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	cons

It was a dazzling turn out of some of the best and brightest (well, brightest if only in terms of jewels and dazzle), but it was to be expected: it was, after all, the big man’s birthday. The underlings wouldn’t dare miss Scarface Capone’s party, and had been very careful to invite the showiest showgirls and flirtiest flappers. The air was full of smoke and perfume and the smell of very pricey — and very illegal — booze. A large band was in the middle of a jazzy Charleston and the dance floor was full of quick feet and swinging arms. 

Through this heady gathering slipped a figure who was both wholly comfortable with and wholly alien to it all. He winked at anyone who caught his eye, he pinched a backside in passing before sweeping a martini glass up from a nearby tray, and he casually inserted himself into any number of conversations. His effortless charm and confidence convinced everyone he was simply another low-level gangster, one of the nameless lackeys who answered to Capone or Lucky Luciano.

No one gave a second glance to the unusual device strapped to his wrist.

Jack Harkness loved the Roaring Twenties. Here, perhaps more than any other time or planet, did he feel the most at home. Sexual politics were so much more uninhibited, the booze was fantastic, and the fashions… Well, that went without saying. A good-looking, well-built man such as himself could go anywhere and do just about anything. It just took a few code words and plenty of swagger, and Chicago was his oyster.

…He never really understood that colloquialism. Why would he want the world to be a small slimy creature that lived in the ocean? Some of the 20th century slang went straight over his head, but he didn’t spare much thought for it at the moment. His eye had just wandered over to a very singular woman, and it struck him that she might just call for his _full_ attention. 

Her hair was curly, blonde, and swept back in a messy bun. A dark cranberry headband dotted with what looked like diamonds secured several loose curls. Her dress practically dripped with red fringe, and she stood beside the _hors d'oeuvres_ table with a supremely bored expression on her face. There was something regal, imperious, queenly about her stance and features—she reminded him a bit of Bathsheba, the sly minx. 

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly when he stood at her elbow. “I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t have a drink. What can I get you?”

“A vodka cranberry,” she replied after glancing at him. Her tone wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t encouraging either. _A challenge_ , he thought with relish. 

“Right away, sweetheart.”

True to his word, he was handing her a glass only seconds later. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” she said dryly.

“A gentleman never leaves a lady in distress,” Jack said with sincerity.

“Gentleman?” She looked him up and down, taking in the fitted pinstripe suit, tightly knotted green tie, and the rose at his buttonhole. “You look like any other mug to me.”

“That’s where you’d be dead wrong. Jack,” he offered his hand. “Jack Harkness.”

“Pleasure, Jack,” she said, shaking his hand firmly before he could kiss it. “I’m River.”

“So, you here with anyone?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said nonchalantly, sipping at her drink. 

“Friends, or should I be jealous?”

“What if I told you I was Bugs’ moll?” She smiled, and it was far from an innocent or sweet smile—in fact, it was almost as predatory as some of Jack’s favorite smirks. 

“Then I’d say he was neglecting you terribly, since I just saw him making sweet with Gretchen Fairbanks.”

“Lucky girl. I heard he’s got some fabulous moves.”

“Not to boast, but I’m pretty sure I could outmaneuver him,” Jack said flippantly, straightening his jacket. 

The band ended the up-beat Charleston and swung into a slower waltz. River set her empty glass on the edge of the table and turned to face Jack fully. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Jack?”

“Anything you want, doll,” he grinned, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her to the dance floor.

He hadn’t been lying—he did have some fabulous moves. This Jack sure knew how to dance, but he kept trying to lead. And that smile… It was dazzling, and seemed perfectly adjusted to unlock very particular centers in her brain. If the situation wasn’t so dire, if she didn’t have a mission to accomplish, she would have been tempted to give in to his breezy charm. As it was, she gave him her best enigmatic smile and let his hand stray a bit southwards. A small price to pay if it kept him happy and distracted while she snuck glances over his shoulder at the crowd.

“You a local boy, Jack?” she asked, hoping conversation would keep him further occupied while she searched for signs. 

“Not really. I move around a lot.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I just like to be where the action is. I get bored easily, see, and there seem to be so many greener pastures over the horizon. And how did you end up at Scarface’s party, River? You’re a long ways from home, with that accent.”

“You have _no_ idea,” she said softly. “I suppose you could say I’m here on business.”

“And what’s your business?”

“Booze,” she said smoothly. _Where_ was _he_? She knew he liked to take his time — make a dramatic entrance — but this was getting ridiculous… “My family’s quite wealthy and quite connected—we operate one of the largest distilleries in England. Capone and Moran pay us handsomely for our continued support.”

“Ah.”

“And how about you, Jack? Are you a dropper? Just another hired gun for the big boys?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was a copper?”

River laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“For one, a copper would never admit he was one in the middle of a boss’ party.”

“Maybe I’m just stupid?”

“No, I doubt that. You’re too sharp for your own good, I think.”

“D’you know what I think?” he murmured into her ear, leaning in closer.

“What?”

“I think you’ve been lying to me.” Something small and metallic pressed against her back, and River had a pretty good idea what it was. 

“And why would you think that?” she whispered back calmly.

“You don’t try to con a conman, sweetie. That story you just fed me was nothing but malarkey, and you’ve been looking for someone all dance—something like that hurts a guy’s feelings. Now tell me the truth.”

“The truth, Jack, isn’t really any of your business,” she said with a smile, sliding one hand from his shoulder up to his neck. “Now, do you want to put that heater back in your pocket, or am I going to have to use this clever little ring of mine?”

Jack felt the barest prick of a needle against his skin. “Knock outs, or something stronger?”

“Do you really want to find out?” she asked sweetly.

“Excuse me, but could I possibly cut in?”

The two turned to glare at the newcomer, a young man several inches shorter than Jack who was wearing a completely incongruous tweed jacket. He grinned at them, one hand fidgeting with his red bowtie as his thin eyebrows did an excited dance across his brow. 

“Must you _always_ wait until the last possible second, Doctor?” River sighed, letting her hand slide down Jack’s back.

“Doctor?” Jack’s hand immediately disappeared into his pocket, resurfacing empty. “Is that really you?”

“Hullo, Captain,” he said glibly. “Like the suit. Any sign of it yet, River?”

“Not so much,” River said in exasperation. “Romeo here’s been too busy trying to distract me.”

“Trying? I think I was succeeding.” 

“Down, boy,” River said curtly.

“Careful, Captain,” the Doctor warned. “River’s sharp as a tack— you’re liable to get cut.”

“What are you doing here?” Jack demanded. “Where’s Rose?”

“Ah. She’s, well, she’s good. Fine. Happy. She’s home. That’s a _very_ long story, and one we don’t have time for at the moment. Another time. You’re sure you saw it duck in here?” This last bit was directed at River.

“Sweetie, must you _always_ doubt me?”

“You said yourself I was too trusting,” the Doctor grinned. “Now you complain when I question you.”

“Pardon me for interrupting this darling bit of flirting,” Jack said, “But want to clue me in here? And what happened to you, Doctor? Get a bit of work done?”

“You know that long story I just mentioned? That’s another one. Explanations later. Right now we’ve got a big problem on our hands. And, since you’ve already made friends with River, how would you like to help us out of our sticky wicket?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Of course. Nothing out of the ordinary, though. Just an escaped shape-shifting convict loose in the gangland of the Roaring Twenties. You can understand why it’d slip in here to hide: half of these blokes look like rejects from _Dick Tracy_.” He shot a suspicious sideways glance at a passing hulk who resembled a craggy mountain shoved into a suit. “Blimey.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jack said with a grin, cracking his knuckles. “So, where should we start?”

“Just a moment, Marlowe,” River said sharply. “Doctor, where’s Amy and Rory?” 

“Not really sure. Last I saw, Rory was making friends with some large fellows while Amy was getting some champagne. Don’t worry, they’ll turn up. They always do.”

\---

“So who do you work for, scrawny?” rumbled what Rory decided _had_ to be a man, if only because igneous rock couldn’t speak English.

“No one, really. I guess the Doctor, but it’s not really a job, per se. I definitely don’t get paid, anyway, though some of the benefits are nice.” He sipped at his gin and tonic and tried not to sweat too noticeably.

“Never heard of dis Doctor,” grunted the gangster’s slightly smaller but no less intimidating friend. “He run with Legs Diamond?”

“No, I don’t think so, though he _is_ fond of running. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Rocky, would it?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said in surprise. “How’d you know that?”

“Good guess. Like your hat.”

“Fanks.”

“There’s my man!” Amy shimmied through the narrow gap between the wall and the mobsters, a half-full champagne flute in one hand. “Pardon me, boys, but the band’s starting up again and I’d fancy a foxtrot with my palooka here.” She grabbed Rory’s free hand and deftly pulled him out towards the dance floor.

“Thank God,” he murmured in relief. “I felt like a bug about to be smashed. I was terrified one of them would think I was mocking them and level me.”

“Nah, those two were too thick; they never could have jumped to that conclusion. Expect they’re the sort of thugs the bosses have who only know how to shoot a gun when they’re told to.”

“You do realize I have no idea how to foxtrot?”

“You’ll pick it up as you go.”

“Hang on, how is it you know all of this stuff?” Rory demanded, stopping her on the edge of the dancers. 

It struck him that Amy looked at home here, utterly at ease in her green flapper dress and short heels, her ginger hair pinned up in tight spiral curls, the white feathers at her headband a vivid contrast with her dark red lipstick. She walked with a confident shimmy of satin and emeralds, and the slang of the day fell so casually from her lips. 

In contrast he felt awkward and stiff, like a boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes. Amy had assured him that the gray zoot suit fit him perfectly, that he looked sexy in the spats and sharp fedora. There had been that mischievous twinkle in her hazel eyes when she’d said this, so he was inclined to believe her. But he still felt wholly out of place and obvious.

“Don’t you remember all of those old films on Sunday mornings on the public access channel? C’mon, you,” she said with an encouraging grin, tugging at his hand. “Let’s have one dance before we start chasing monsters again.”

“Alright,” he agreed finally, following her into the press of wild bodies.

Ten minutes later and Rory was gasping for breath, his hair damp with sweat and his sides and feet aching. Amy was laughing on his arm, long strands of hair flying loose. 

“Wow, no wonder all of these girls are so thin,” he wheezed as they made their way to a table. “They must burn a billion calories in these dances.”

“It probably helps that half of them don’t eat, either,” Amy said cynically. “And smoke like chimneys.”

“I’ll be right back—I need a bathroom,” Rory said, pulling out the silk handkerchief Amy had slipped into his breast pocket. 

The first door he opened belonged to a janitor’s closet. The second was a very intimately decorated parlor—“Sorry!” he said quickly to the busy couple on the couch, snapping the door shut before the interrupted mug could aim a heater at him. 

And the third door revealed something that would have been deemed impossible by anyone who hadn’t traveled with the Doctor for several months. Rory stared for a long moment, mouth hanging open in shock, before closing the door and running back to the ballroom.

\---

“Got a foolproof way to discover who the shape-shifter is?” Jack asked.

“Yes. We grab everyone and make them open their mouths as wide as possible,” the Doctor said readily. “The shifter will have a second set of teeth near the epiglottis.” 

“That could prove somewhat difficult, sweetie,” River said, rolling her eyes.

“I suppose so. Then we’ll just have to slip in close to everyone and I’ll scan them obliquely with my screwdriver.”

“That would take a couple hours,” Jack pointed out.

“You two are being _vastly_ unhelpful,” the Doctor complained. “If either of you have a better idea, I’d be more than happy to hear it.”

“You could always fix my vortex manipulator,” Jack suggested, pushing back his suit sleeve to fully reveal his wristband. “I’ll do a scan for alien biology and WHAM, we’ll have the miscreant.”

“Doctor! Doctor!”

“Oh, there’s one of the wayward Ponds — hello, Rory!” the Doctor exclaimed, pivoting on his heel to grin at the frantic man. 

“I know who the shape-shifter is,” he announced breathlessly. 

“Who?” asked the Doctor.

“How?” asked River and Jack.

“Because,” Rory said, gasping in a deep breath. “I just found the _real_ Al Capone tied up in a closet.”

\---

Amy fiddled with her string of emeralds and swished the last dregs of champagne in her glass, wondering what could be taking Rory so long in the bathroom. She hoped he hadn’t been cornered by another pair of inquisitive thugs—funny how they seemed to travel in packs and pairs…

“Excuse me, dollface, but I was wondering if you’d like to join us up at the main table.”

Amy looked up at the drawling, very masculine voice, and stared into a _very_ recognizable face. She blinked for a moment in disbelief. “…What?”

“I hoped you’d like to join me,” Scarface Capone said smoothly with a sharp smile. “The boys are bringing out the cake soon.”

“Why me?” Amy asked.

“Does a man need a reason to spend time with a gorgeous dame such as yourself?”

Amy realized the severity of her situation. This was _Al Capone_. Undisputed (at least for now) boss of Chicago. He had over a dozen mobs under his fist, hundreds of guns and thousands of dollars at his disposal. When a man like this wanted something, he took it as a matter of fact.

It probably wouldn’t be wise to turn him down.

“Sure, of course, thank you,” Amy said, standing quickly and taking the arm he offered her.

“Is that Amy?” River demanded, catching sight of the pair as they moved towards the table of honor, a pair of Capone’s black suited bodyguards close behind them. 

“This could be very not good,” the Doctor said, fiddling with his screwdriver. “Jack, could you grab Rory, please.”

“Hold on, tiger.” Jack pulled him back before he could manage more than a belated leap forward. “Think we should wait and see what the Doc’s got under his sleeve. His plans haven’t failed me yet. Well, most of them haven’t.”

“Doctor, exactly _why_ was this shape-shifter in prison?” Rory demanded.

“Because he broke some laws—obviously, Rory.”

“Doctor.”

“…He may have eaten a few people,” the Doctor said as gently as he could. “But don’t panic, he won’t try anything so drastic in this crowded room. And I suspect he’d have a hard time with Amy, anyway—she has a way of not going where she doesn’t want to.”

“So, what’s the plan then?” River asked, a hand slipping under her skirt and reappearing with a small multi-purpose laser pistol. Jack’s eyes suddenly resembled saucers.

“And just _where_ were you keeping _that_?” he demanded with audible admiration.

“The contents of a girl’s garter are her own business, flyboy,” River said with a smile. 

“Doctor, we can’t just stand here,” Rory hissed. “The shape-shifter got a good look at us in the street—he has to know that she’s after him. What if he’s planning to use her as a hostage?”

“Rory, you know how your wife is when she gets riled!” the Doctor chided. “Do you really expect he’ll find it as easy as all that?”

“You do have a point there,” Rory conceded. He looked over his shoulder at Jack. “…You can let go of my arms now.”

“If you say so,” Jack said, raising one eyebrow. “Do you work out much?”

“Jack, time and place,” the Doctor said. “River, I need your computer.”

“You already have it.”

“No, I don’t, I distinctly remember giving it back to you before we left the TARDIS.”

“It’s in your pocket.”

He rummaged for a moment and glared at her pointedly. “No, it isn’t.”

“Your left pocket.”

A second of stony silence passed before he pulled it free from his jacket and began to moodily punch keys.

“Who _are_ you?” Jack demanded in awe. “His wife or something?”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” the Doctor said loudly, glancing one last time at the screen before giving his screwdriver one final adjustment. “This frequency should force him into his natural shape, and once that happens the TARDIS is already keyed up to teleport him back into the holding cage. Now we just need to clear the room.”

“What, all of it?” Jack demanded. “There’s got to be at least three hundred people here!”

“Well I can’t very well reveal a pandimensional creature in front of Chicago’s mob bosses, Jack,” the Doctor pointed out patiently. “That’s the sort of thing that would get around. These underworld types love to gossip.”

“So what should we do? Fire alarm?” River suggested.

“I know,” Rory said. He climbed up onto the closest table and cupped his hands around his mouth. “CHEESE IT, EVERYBODY. THE FEDS ARE ON THEIR WAY!”

For an instant the entire room was dead silent as dozens of eyes swiveled towards Rory. And then pandemonium broke out as every thug, moll, and rat rushed for the exits in a stream of silk and smoke. 

“I like your style,” Jack said, slapping Rory on the back as he clambered down from the shaking table.

\---

“Boss, we should dust out,” one of the bodyguards said with a worried frown as the last guest ran through the exit, the hand thrust into his jacket pocket tightening around his gun.

“You two go,” Scarface said firmly. “I want a word with the broad here. Then I’ll be right behind you.”

“But, boss—”

“You question me again and you’ll be enjoying the big sleep,” the mobster snapped. The two lackeys exchanged panicked looks before hurrying out the closest door. “Now then, sweetheart, I wanted to exchange some words with you.”

“I’m flattered by your interest, Mr. Capone, but I’m a married woman,” Amy said politely. “Also, I’d rather not face the police right now. It would be awfully hard to explain myself.”

“Then try explaining yourself to me—just who is that man you were with out on 5th Avenue, hmm? The one in the queer rags and bowtie?”

“You’re not the real Scarface,” Amy said. 

“Got it in one, baby.”

“Stick ‘em up!”

Amy and the shifter turned sharply. The Doctor stood in the middle of the abandoned dance floor, screwdriver held out in a business-like fashion.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” he grinned. “Yeah, I know, it’s not nearly as effective without a badge or a gun—but in this case I think a screwdriver’s a decent substitute.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t a screw,” the shifter said, grabbing Amy’s arm roughly. “Come any closer and I’ll make an after-dinner snack of your friend.”

“Now that’s an empty threat,” River said, coming to stand at the Doctor’s right shoulder. “You couldn’t eat her properly, not in that shape.”

“She’s right—it’d take you too long. We’d all be on you before you could get a real mouthful,” Jack added. 

“You’d have to be in your real form,” Rory pointed out.

“You take me for a dupe?” the shifter laughed. “You clever dicks have a trick up your sleeves—you _want_ me to shift back. Probably got some trap in place for when I do, right?”

“Dicks?” Jack echoed in an undertone.

“I think he thinks we’re the police,” Rory replied.

“Well, in a way, yes,” the Doctor added. “We _are_ here as a favor to the Shadow Proclamation, after all. We’re practically deputies. Oh, wait: is that in the Old West?”

“Doesn’t matter,” River said sharply. She raised her laser pistol. “Step away from Amy right now or I’ll shoot.”

“And hit her?” The shifter pulled Amy closer as a shield. “Want to run that risk?”

“Do you know who I am?” River asked calmly.

“I doubt that it matters.”

“I'm River Song.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. And I expect you’ve heard the stories about how good my aim is?”

“…A few.”

“Well, they’re all lies. I’m _much_ better than that.”

“Doctor, who _is_ this woman?” Jack demanded.

“River’s River. That’s all that can be said right now.”

“You okay, Amy?” said Rory.

“I’m just peachy,” she replied with an angry huff. “You know,” she said to the shifter gripping her arms. “Your breath is _terrible_. I wasn’t going to say, since I thought you were _the_ Scarface, but under these circumstances I just thought you should know.”

“You’re a charming girl. Bet you taste lovely, too.”

“You try to eat me and I’ll choke you,” Amy promised.

“River, you can put the gun down,” the Doctor said firmly.

“I can take him down,” River assured. “Amy’ll be fine.”

“I believe you, I’d just rather you didn’t shoot him.” 

“Sometimes pacifism isn’t the only way,” said River.

“And violence _never_ is. Excuse me, but what’s your name?”

The shifter stared. “You want to know my name?”

“Yes, I do. Isn’t that the polite way to do things: introduce ourselves before we get down to brass tacks?” The Doctor paused and glanced at Jack. “Why _brass_ tacks?”

“Don’t ask me,” Jack said with a shrug. “I’ll never understand all of the slang.”

“I’m called Rikol,” the shifter said.

“Ah, lovely name, after the fourth moon on Rabzihan?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. We’ll, I’m the Doctor, and River’s already introduced herself, and this is Captain Jack Harkness—well, to be fair, he’s not _really_ a captain, and I’m pretty sure his name isn’t actually Jack Harkness, but that’s what he calls himself and who am I to argue with a name a man picks for himself? And this is Rory Pond.”

“…Williams.”

“Rory Pond-Williams, and that lovely ginger you have there is his wife, Amy. Now, isn’t that nice? We all know each other now.”

“And what do you suggest now, Doctor?” Rikol demanded. “You expect me to play nice and come with you quietly, back to that stinking cell on that blighted planet?”

“That would be lovely, yes, but perhaps we could get to know each other a bit better first? For example, my favorite food is fish custard. River here has also dabbled in being an escaped convict. Captain Jack knows all _sorts_ of ways to dance, and Rory was plastic once. And something you should know about Amy is—she’s quite good at kicking.”

As if she’d been waiting for her cue, Amy twisted in Rikol’s grasp and delivered a sharp and very succinct blow to a particular bit of anatomy with her heeled foot. In his normal form Rikol didn’t actually _have_ the bits that were now afire with pain. Such a kick would have been nothing to him — merely absorbed into his shapeless and nerveless mass. But Al Capone most certainly _did_ have those bits, and hundreds of nerves connected to them, and every one of them was now shrieking in agony. 

Because there are some fundamental rules of the universe, Rikol immediately released Amy and grabbed at these maltreated parts, slowly crumpling to the ground.

“Sorry about that, Rikol, but you’ve done the crimes and now must pay the time.” The Doctor’s screwdriver whirred as Amy clambered over the table and into Rory’s outstretched arms—a moment later Rikol had resumed his natural blobby form, and as soon as he had a blue glow enveloped him and he vanished, safely transported into the TARDIS. 

“Well now, that was easy,” the Doctor grinned. “Good work, Pond.”

“Yeah, brilliant. We’ve ruined the party—now what?”

“Well,” Jack said slowly, bending to pick up a bottle of wine that had rolled across the floor in the chaos. “We could always have our own private party. Hi there. I'm Captain Jack.”

“Hands off,” Rory said firmly, inserting himself between the two.

“Actually, we don’t have time for any more partying, Jack,” the Doctor said. “Sorry, but we’ve got to go. The sooner I get Rikol back to his prison, the happier I’ll be.”

“I thought as much,” Jack said sadly. “I remember the _last_ time the TARDIS was an actual police box…”

“Yes, well,” the Doctor said quickly, slipping his screwdriver into his pocket and not quite meeting Jack’s eyes. “We’ll be off, then. Come along, Ponds. River.”

“Doctor,” Jack made an aborted move towards them. Standing in the midst of the ruined party decorations in his sharp suit, an expensive bottle in one hand, Jack looked as forlorn as a 51st century conman could. “…Can’t I come with you?”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” the Doctor said with a small degree of regret. “Not now. Different timelines, you see.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Cheer up though, old man,” the Doctor grinned, slapping his shoulder bracingly. “You’ll see me again, don’t worry on that.”

“And you, River? Will I ever see you again?”

She glanced over her shoulder with an arched brow. “…Maybe, Jack Harkness. Don’t stop dreaming.”

His laugh followed them out into the foggy Chicago night.


End file.
